


All in the mind

by LadyTineapple



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, imagined!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTineapple/pseuds/LadyTineapple





	All in the mind

John sighed, when he entered the flat and saw a long, thin figure lying on the sofa. “Not again.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the baritone replied.

“Yes, you do,” the elder said tiredly. “You always know what I mean. You’re the great Sherlock Holmes, you can read minds!”

The taller smirked at his friend. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Even if you can’t, you can still read mine, because you’re a part of it.”

The smile faded from the taller as he sat up, narrowing his brows.

“You’re not real,” John said firmly.

“Of course I am.”

“No, Sherlock. You’re dead. I saw you–” he swallowed, unable to finish the sentence. It has been three months since he saw his best friend jump off a roof, but it still hurt to think about it.

“Okay,” the baritone replied calmly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” John asked, wondering why he bothered arguing with his own imagination.

Sherlock got up and slowly walked over to his friend. “I’m not real.”

“Then go away.”

“I will, when you want me to,” the taller said, arching a brow.

John threw him an angry look. He was certain that he wanted him to disappear. It was painful to see his dead best friend follow him. He had moved out of 221B long ago, to leave the memories behind and yet they kept following him around.

“I’m only here, because you want me to be, John. Because you miss me,” the detective explained the same way he always had, while wrapping his thin fingers around the Doctor’s wrist. He could feel Sherlock’s surprisingly warm, soft skin on his own. He could feel the pressure of his fingers, the structure of his bones.

“This is not something you would usually do,” John said, breathing heavily, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. “You weren’t like that. The real you, I mean. You wouldn’t do this.”

“It is what you want me to do,” he replied.

“It’s pathetic,” John huffed and received a questioning look from Sherlock. “Oh, come on. I’m fantasising over a dead person. A dead person, I was not even together with.” He shook his head defeatedly. “I never thought I’d sink that low.”

Sherlock tilted his head, with a light smile curling his lips. “I used to talk to you, long after you were gone and you never thought it was pathetic, did you?”

“No, that was odd, but not pathetic,” John replied.

“This is not much different.”

“Yes, it is,” John said decisively. “It’s a whole new level of weird, because this is not only talking, Sherlock. It’s just wrong.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked. His brows narrowed and his face was now so close to John’s, that he could feel his breath on his skin. “Because you can’t let go of your best friend? Of the man you loved and still love?”

“You’re not real,” John repeated, trying to control his shaking body.

Sherlock leaned even closer to John, until his lips softly brushed over his cheeks. “And yet, you can feel me,” he whispered, before he lowered his mouth on John’s neck. They barely touched, but the feeling almost sent John over the moon, even though he knew none of those things really happened. It was all in his head.

When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he pulled Sherlock’s head back and pressed his lips violently against the taller one’s. “The mind can do incredible things,” he whispered, between kisses, being surprised how real it all felt himself. The taller smiled down at him for a moment, before kissing him again.

John grabbed Sherlock’s hips and pulled him even closer. Then he proceeded to pull Sherlock’s shirt up and let his hands glide underneath it, feeling each rib-bone under his pale skin. He could feel Sherlock’s quickened breath and his heartbeat, as if it was the real him, as if he had never left him. He knew, of course, that the mind could make everything look and feel real. He had always known, but never before experienced it himself and was more than just a bit surprised by it.

“Sherlock,” he gasped against his shoulder. “If we do this, will you leave?”

“Only if you want me to,” Sherlock said softly, placing a kiss on John’s forehead.

“I don’t. I want you to stay with me,” he said and kissed the taller again, their tongues swirling around another.

Suddenly, realising that all he wanted was to spend the rest of his life with the memories of his best friend, that he was about to lose what was left of his mind, John pulled his head back. “No,” he said, pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder. “This can’t go on. You are not real, you are dead! It’s been the same for weeks. Every day, I come in here and start fantasising over you.”

“You never complained before,” Sherlock remarked.

John shook his head. “It’s wonderful. I love feeling you, seeing you and being able to do with you what I have always dreamed of, but it’s not right. It’s too painful.”

Sherlock cocked his head. “What are you trying to do?”

“This can’t go on,” John said shaking his head, with tears in his eyes. “I can’t drown in my madness.” He slipped from underneath Sherlock and went to his bedroom, ignoring the younger one’s shouting. After all, it was only in his head.

He took out his gun from his nightstand and placed it in his mouth, while Sherlock stared at him, suddenly a lot calmer than before.

John took a deep breath, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The whole world slowed down suddenly, as he fell to the ground. His blond hair turned dark and wet in his blood, but it has never been so quiet.

With a worried look in his eyes, Sherlock leaned over John and the older realised that he liked the idea of him being the last thing he sees. “Well, that was rather stupid, don’t you think?” Sherlock asked arrogantly, as his shape slowly started to fade. “I really thought you’d figure it out.”

John gave his imagined friend a questioning look.

“You’ve been there, John. You saw me, the real me, but as usual, you did not observe,” the detective explained. “It was a trick, John. Sherlock is not dead.”


End file.
